


in the hollow.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Big Chill (1983)
Genre: Depression, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: It's a bad day.But it's a day off.





	in the hollow.

 

As the rain falls outside, Alex lies back against Michael’s lap, and Michael barely seems to notice him, his gaze focused intently on the magazine in his hand. It isn’t actually one of Michael’s own subscriptions, but one of Alex’s - Michael always makes fun of him for it, says he’s stupid for reading it when it’s not real journalism, when it’s a tabloid newspaper that prints stories about alien abductions or Frankenstein in Transylvania, but whenever Michael picks it up, he reads it voraciously.

“You could probably write for ‘em, you know,” Alex murmurs. He turns to lie on his side, his cheek pressed against the soft yield of Michael’s belly, where he doesn’t have the same rounded swell of flesh that Alex has, and Michael lifts the paper, giving him an affronted look. “You’d like it,” Alex says.

“I’d like stripping, too,” Michael replies.

“I can get you a stripping job.” Michael scoffs, looking back to the article, and Alex smiles slightly to himself, and lets his eyes close. He can feel the warmth of Michael’s body through the fabric of his polo shirt, and he can hear the quiet beat of Michael’s heart, and the groan and whistle of his guts as they work. 

Alex feels...

Not good.

There is a part of him that wants to lock himself in the bathroom and lie down in the bath, take a few aspirin and--

But there’s no lock on the bathroom door, and Alex doesn’t even like to close it most of the time: there’s an unspoken agreement between them, that they leave it open.

“You okay?” Michael asks, softly. He’s not looking at the paper anymore: instead, he’s looking at Alex, and he reaches for Alex’s cheek, sliding his palm over the light stubble there. Michael’s brow is furrowed in concern, and he drops the paper aside, pulling Alex up, pulling him closer. Alex slides himself against Michael’s body, his knee loosely drawing over Michael’s body, and he presses his face right against his chest.

“I miss your beard,” Alex mutters, avoiding the question, and Michael curls a hand through his hair, kisses the top of his head. It’s such a gentle motion that Alex shivers, clutching Michael a little more tightly.

“Couldn’t get hired with a beard like that,” Michael murmurs, and Alex thinks about Michael’s stupid job at  _People_ , about the articles he writes that he hates, that he doesn’t like.

“You don’t need a job,” Alex says. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll work. Keep you at home so you can work on your articles.”

“What, and look after the kids?” Michael asks jokingly, but Alex doesn’t laugh. Maybe it’s bad, that he doesn’t laugh - it just doesn’t feel funny, right now, and instead it just makes something twist hard in his stomach, the idea of him and Michael with kids. He knows they can’t have any, he knows no one’d...

It’s 1977, for Christ’s sake.

Surely it’ll be better, ten years from now, twenty years. Surely--

Surely they’d be able to walk outside together, hold hands, go to dinner and not worry... 

“Where are you, baby?” Michael asks softly, and he plays his fingers through Alex’s hair, drags his fingers over the taut muscle at the back of his neck... Alex feels the emptiness in his chest, the aching desperation to just lie in the dark and wait for it all to stop, and he closes his eyes as tightly as he can.

“In the hollow, Mikey,” Alex replies, and he feels Michael’s sigh more than he hears it, feels the breath touch through his hair. He feels like his skin is made of paper, like any sound he makes is gonna echo right through the cavern of his chest, and he wishes, almost absently, almost thoughtlessly, that he was dead. “You don’t have to work if you don’t want to,” Alex repeats, hearing the break in his own voice. “I’d take care of you, if you wanted to quit that shitty job at  _People_.”

“The shitty job at  _People_  helps pay the bills,” Michael murmurs, and his hand slides down and begins to scratch back and forth on Alex’s back, playing over the muscle underneath Alex’s sleep shirt... “You work hard enough to take care of me, Alex. Let me take care of you.” Alex grips at Michael even tighter, and Michael squeezes him tightly, tightly--

And he still feels so, so hollow.

Why can’t Michael make it better? Michael makes everything else better. Why not this?

“You want me to read you this dumb article about Big Foot’s wedding?”

“Shit,” Alex mutters, woodenly. “That bitch is married?”

“The article will tell all,” Michael says in the voice of a circus announcer, and Alex wishes he felt better, wishes they were making better use of a shared day off, wishes,  _wishes_... “Hey, Alex?”

“Mmm?”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Michael says, digging his nails in and scratching against Alex’s shoulders and making him sigh and relax just a little more. He tries not to think too hard about what Michael’s just said - he doesn’t want to cry. It’s bad enough that he’s moping, without the tears as well. “I love you, Alex. You know that.”

“I know that,” Alex murmurs. “I love you too.”

He curls up again, presses his cheek against Michael’s belly, pulls a blanket around his body and over Michael’s legs, and he listens as Michael reads from the paper, which...

“You gotta admit. The actual writing is, um, it’s impeccable. I don’t think  _you_  write that smoothly, and it’s not just passion for Big Foot that makes an article read that well.”

“I know,” Michael says miserably, and Alex feels himself laugh, genuinely... as he waits to fall asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html), which I'm making my focus rather than Tumblr in the wake of all this anti-adult content nonsense. Requests always open.


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